


forgetting how to love

by kqrmen1



Series: i'll put down my roots when i'm dead [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mentioned Jack Manifold, Mentioned Niki | Nihachu, Nightmares, Other, Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, more implied ig, niki and puffy are roommates and own a bakery together :), puffy is ranboo's social worker, tommy is a gremlin child (as always)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kqrmen1/pseuds/kqrmen1
Summary: Ranboo knows a lot of things. He forgets a lot of things. He knows that he lost his parents in a fire at the age of 6, he forgot the faces of his family.He knows he'll be stuck in foster care for a long time. He forgets that people have the ability to love.(or im new to writing and want to write some ranboo angst)
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Niki | Nihachu, Ranboo & Everyone, Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Series: i'll put down my roots when i'm dead [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149911
Comments: 31
Kudos: 371





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haha please do not hurt me i am but a noob at writing and just want to write some ranboo angst  
> also please give comment i need fuel  
> ty :)
> 
> title/tags are subject to change!

Ranboo knew a lot of things.

He knew he lost his parents at 6 years old when his house burnt down. **(They still hadn't caught the arsonist who had done it.)**

He knew he had memory problems, and so he needed to carry a notebook around with him to remember things. **(A therapist he had once went to said it was due to trauma. Ranboo just thought he was stupid.)**

He also forgot a lot of things. He forgot the way his mother smiled, the way his father made him laugh. He forgot his dad's favorite recipe, the one he made at dinner for special events; the one he had loved. He forgot the scent that helped his mother calm down after a panic attack **(he thought it might be lavender or peaches.)** He forgot what his family dog's name was **(Something beginning with a D, he thought.)**

He could never be sure.

\--

When he was thrown into the foster care system at the age of 7, two months after his parents had died and he lost everything **(he never got to celebrate his birthday with them,)** he was terrified. The memories of his parents death were starting to fade, but his nightmares would never let him forget. He would get them constantly, only being able to sleep for a few hours before being woken up in a cold sweat, memories of a night he barely recognized fresh in his mind.

He hated the night terrors, but he didn't want to bother the staff at the place he stayed at **(He thought it was an orphanage. They'd told him when he had arrived, but he forgot within minutes.)** with a stupid, sniffling child who didn't know how to deal with his emotions. So, instead, he would write down in his journal, the one his dad had owned, the one thing that had survived the fire, about the nightmares. He would write down the steps of how to calm himself down from a panic attack, like his mother had shown him how, before he forgot.

He hated forgetting. He hated it more than the night terrors, more than how the other children would stare at him due to his burn scars, more than he hated the burn scars themselves.

Forgetting was the one thing that he would always remember. He would feel a tingle at his mind, almost as if something scratched his brain, whenever he knew something but couldn't remember. It was so incredibly frustrating, how he would reach for the memory, almost grasping it, before it fell through his fingers like trying to cup water.

Forgetting was the worst. He almost remembered why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo has a nightmare the morning before meeting some potential foster parents. High on stress and anxiety, it doesn't go well.
> 
> or Ranboo doesn't understand how to handle emotions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ty for the ranboo discord server for giving me help with some of the names in this chapter!  
> this took forever but im so happy with how it turned out. also halfway through writing it i tried to save it as a draft and the next day all my work was gone B) thanks ao3!! /s

_He didn't remember falling asleep that night, but he remembered waking up. He felt someone shake his arm._

_He looked up, eyes adjusting to the new light- Light? He found his mother, desperately shaking him awake. She looked incredibly panicked, but why?_

_"Boo, honey, we have to go. C'mon, your father is waiting downstairs," His mother said, voice strained._

_"Mama? What's going on?"_

_His mother looked worried, "I'll explain it to you later, Boo, but we have to leave, now."_

_His mother's tone gave no room for argument as he stood up and wrapped his comforter around him. He loved the comforter, despite being just a plain grey. His mother picked him up, wrapping her arms around her tight. As she ran out of his room, he understood why she was so panicked._

_Flames licked at the floor and ran up the ceiling, turning the warm white color that their house was painted a fiery orange, eating the walls like it was gingerbread. He almost screamed as his mother rushed down the stairs, the fire running close behind._

_"Delilah!" he heard his father shout from the kitchen. When he turned to the voice, he saw his father running from a flaming kitchen. The warm yellow the walls were painted in now seemed so much brighter with the fire. He watched as a cabinet crumbled into ash, falling from it's place on the wall. He noticed that the family dog, a golden retriever, was no where to be seen with his father. This was odd, since the dog stuck to his father's legs like a scared child._

_"Delilah, we have to leave. Now." The tone of his father's voice scared him, and he felt tears well up in his eyes. They burned against his eyes, feeling almost as hot as the fire crawling up the walls._ _His father grabbed his mother's wrist, dragging her through the hallways of their burning house. The townhouse wasn't too big, but in the moment it felt like thousands of acres of indistinguishable hallways and staircases._

_Suddenly, their path was stopped as part of the ceiling fell into the hallway, crushing his father. It fell onto his father as if it were a paperweight, and his father an unruly stack of documents._

_The last thing he remembered was his mother screaming before his vision went black._

_\--_

_His mother was shaking him awake, the fire growing._

_"Boo, you need to run. I'm... I have to stay with your father." His mother's eyes were teary, and she gave him a sad smile in response to his shock._

_"What? Mama, what do you mean?" He looked up at his mother, voice betraying his worry. He felt his feet on the ground and presumed that his mother had set him down. She was standing next to where his father had been, a dark ink spilling from under the slab of the popcorn ceiling. He thought it might be blood, and that made him sick. His father's blood, coating the floor of his burning house. This was a horrible nightmare._

_His mother's smile faltered before growing tighter. She sighed, "Ranboo, please. I need you to leave. For your father and I's sakes."_

_His mother pulled him into a tight hug, before pushing him towards the end of the hall. Fire was everywhere, the smoke stinging his eyes and burning his lungs. He nodded, not quite understanding, before he ran. Suddenly, this was a new maze, despite being the only home he had ever lived and known. Suddenly, he felt arms around him, and he screamed. He looked up, and saw the night sky, stars sparkling. His father had loved the stars._

_"Kid, are you alright?" He looked towards the sound, seeing someone in a bright yellow hat looking at him. Their face was covered in a mask, maybe to protect them from the fire? He didn't know. He shook his head, feeling tears slip down his face. "We've got to get you out of here, kid. Do you know where your parents are?" He shook his head again, his brain had gone on autopilot after his mother had told him to run._

_"C'mon kid, let's go talk to the police officers."_

_\--_

Ranboo woke up in a cold sweat, legs jerking out infront of him from shock of the dream. He heard a quiet, dull thunk as his legs hit the end of his shoddy bed. It had once fit him, when he was around 10. Then he had started to grow and grow, and it hadn't gone with him.

Ranboo held in a scream, feeling tears well up in his eyes. He shoved a fist into his mouth, trying to stifle and crying. He looked around, seeing it was incredibly dark. He decided it was probably around dawn, his guess being right as he looked over to the clock sitting above the door of the room he slept in.

He'd never really considered the room his, despite living in it for almost a decade. He had always just called it "the room he slept in," since he had to share it with two other kids. The room was relatively small for having to fit 3 kids. It held a bunk bed and a cot. He slept on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed. The room was painted a baby blue, meant to be calming for the kids who slept in it. Instead, to Ranboo, it had become a reminder of the living hell he had gone through.

The only other thing in the room besides the bedding was a small wardrobe and an even smaller desk with a stool. The wardrobe was never used, kids preferring to just keep their small belongings in whatever form of bag they had. The desk had been meant to be for kids to do homework, but instead gathered dust.

He looked around, seeing one of his roommates asleep on the cot. He reckoned that the other was also asleep on the top of the bunkbed, due to the lack of shuffling. The bunkbed was incredibly unstable due to the years of use, and shook whenever the person on the top moved. Getting up on the top bunk was a nightmare, which was why Ranboo had chosen the bottom bunk.

He'd only been staying in the room for about a year or so, seeing different roommates move in and out of the room. He'd been bumped from group home to group home due to the other group homes either getting sick of him or filling up. Currently, he was in a pretty small group home, only housing 7 or so other kids. His current roommates was a young girl, he thought her name might begin with a P? He had written it down in his Father's journal, the one thing that had been saved from the fire, that he used for incredibly important things. He didn't bother opening the journal, too tired. His other roommate was an older boy, new to the system. His name was Jack, and he had lost his parents in a terrorist attack on a movie theater. He knew, since the workers had told him and his bunk mate before he had moved in. It was to not scare the kid.

He laid back down, sleepily grabbing his journal from under his bed. It was where he kept all his things since the room didn't have any night stands. He rolled over, now laying on his stomach, as he used the first lights of the day to write down in his journal about the nightmare. He owned two journals, one being his fathers, and the other a plain, green spiral-bound notebook. He used it to write down less important things, since he could afford to lose it.

_"I had another nightmare. It was about the fire. It scared me, and I woke up in a cold sweat."_ He decided that was good enough, tucking the notebook under the bed as he turned onto his side. His legs instinctively curled around him, making him look much smaller. He decided to try to get a bit more sleep, feeling tired despite just having woken up. Slowly, his eyes closed as morning dawned.

When he was next awaken, the owner of the group home was knocking on the door, slowly opening it. The woman was nice, but a little up-tight at times. She also had a short line, getting impatient quickly. She told the kids to get up and that they would be having visitors in about 20 minutes. He heard the other kids in the room shuffle, hearing Jack groan from behind him. Ranboo quietly got up, grabbing a hoodie from his bag before throwing it over his figure. He always slept in clothes that could be deemed acceptable for visitors, usually sleeping in jeans too short for his legs or dark sweatpants. This was so that he didn't have to either head to the bathroom and take up time for the other kids, or change in front of his roommates. Both sounded like equal hell, so he decided to just sleep in the same pair of sweatpants or jeans for a few days.

He got up, putting his journal into his bag. He knew he wasn't going to leave, but it was better than being robbed by some kid while he was meeting the visitors. He had made the mistake of leaving one of his older journals out while they met some potential foster parents once in an older group home. When he'd gotten back, his journal was no where to be found. He'd panicked before he found it in the trash, lots of the pages being torn out. He'd been so sad that day, and had learned his lesson. Despite being in a different group home now, he'd known that kids like that would still be bouncing around in the system. Different home didn't mean different system.

He shouldered his bag and headed for the door, hearing his bunk mate go towards the dresser as he left. He never bothered to make friends with his roommates. This didn't mean he wasn't friendly with them! No, he always made a point to be polite. He just knew that he was going to be stuck in the system for a long time, and every time his friends left he would get sad. He had decided that being lonely was better than continual heartbreak.

As he walked along the hall, he could hear other kids shuffling around in their rooms. He heard a conversation coming from one of the rooms. He'd forgotten who lived in there, but it sounded like two little girls. They sounded excited, talking about how they could get adopted. He gave a sad smile, wishing the kids didn't have hope. He used to have hope in getting adopted, but after his third birthday in the system his spark had been snuffed out. It wasn't that he thought he was unlovable, it's just that he had been rejected so many times. They always wanted a younger, happier kid, not some tall freak of a teenager with burn marks and memory issues.

He walked into the kitchen, seeing the homeowner snacking on an apple. She sometimes tried to make them all breakfast, but it was hard, and so she usually didn't. Today was one of those days.

"Hey, Ranboo! Up bright and early, I see?" She smiled cheerily at him before taking another bite. He took a seat across from her at the table, giving a half-hearted shrug. Apparently, this was answer enough as she continued. "We're going to be meeting a wife and husband, they're looking for two kids. Good luck, Ranboo."

He smiled at her, giving a small sigh. Usually, when foster parents or adoptees were looking for two kids, it meant that you had a higher chance to get adopted or fostered. It didn't matter to Ranboo, since he was barely ever fostered.

He looked over at her, asking quietly, "Are we going to be meeting them in a group or one on one?" Sometimes, foster parents liked to talk to kids one on one to get to know them better. Other times, the kids were rounded up like prized cattle, the fosters scrutinizing them, looking them up and down. Sometimes he thought foster parents could smell fear.

She looked up from her phone, giving a small smile. "They wanted to talk one on one with you kids." Great. He hated one on one talks with the adoptees, he always felt cornered and pressured to be perfect for them. He felt as if he had to be the friendliest, most open kid whenever he was talking one on one and he hated it. It was barely better than the group option, which made him feel anxious and fidgety. But at least he didn't have to openly talk to some strangers about his parents death and all his trauma.

Within 10 or so minutes, all eight children were crowded around the small dining table. Some of the older kids were standing, Ranboo having had given up his chair to a small boy who was probably around seven. Most of the younger children, about five of the kids in the home, were sitting around the table.

The homeowner's phone rang, and Ranboo gave a wary glance at it as the tone sounded throughout the small room. "One second, kids!" she exclaimed, taking her phone and moving into the kitchen. Jack sat down at the seat the woman had occupied a few moments ago. After about three minutes, the woman came into the room, grip tight on her phone. She looked a little anxious, but overall more excited.

"Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins are on their way!"

\--

When the couple arrived a few moments later, Ranboo fidgeted with his hands for the umpteenth time that morning. They looked business casual if not a little uptight. The woman was short and stout, wearing a tight black dress. She wore a lime cardigan over it, with lime sneakers to match. Her husband (Husband? Boyfriend?) was tall and stocky, and wore a white dress shirt with a black tie and dark grey overcoat. He wore some dark jeans with it, along with a pair of dark brown dress shoes. The homeowner - who's name he thinks might have been Mrs. Brown? - was currently greeting them.

He and the rest of the kids were sitting in the small sitting room, waiting to be called into Mrs. Brown's office. Over the course of the hour, Mrs. Brown called a child into her office for 10 minutes before sending the child back to grab the next one. Ranboo was just spacing out before he felt a hand on his shoulder. At the touch he jumped a bit, looking over to find a young girl shaking his shoulder.

"Mrs. Brown says its your turn, Boo!" She gave him a smile at the nickname, and he returned it despite the sting of sad nostalgia it gave him.

He grabbed his bag and headed through the hallway to Mrs. Brown's office. Her office was just a small, renovated bedroom where she did work with the social workers and the foster parents. He knocked at the door and when she heard her give a "come in!" he entered. He had been in this room so many times over the year he had stayed at the home, and it was still the most comforting thing ever.

The walls were a warm brown color with cream trim, bookcases lining the walls. In the middle was a small, mahogany desk with a desk chair that sat against the wall. In front of the desk were three cushioned chairs. In two of them sat Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins, and the third was pulled off to the side of the desk. This was presumably for him. He made his way over to the empty chair where he nervously sat, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

Mrs. Hawkins just headed straight into the interrogation. "What's wrong with your face?" She said it extremely bluntly, not bothering with formalities.

Mrs. Brown looked a bit shocked, glancing at Mrs. Hawkins before turning back to Ranboo. He swallowed his shock before stuttering out, "Well, I was in a house fire. It's why I'm here."

Mrs. Hawkins held a drop of sympathy in her heart before she went back to the blunt, uncomfortable questions.

It was 10 minutes of absolute torture, being asked uncomfortable questions about any mental health issues, his parent's death, his foster care experience. He was only half truthful, leaving out some of the more sad and dangerous details. When he mentioned his memory loss, this sent Mrs. Hawkins into a spiral of questions about why, what, when. He hated every second of it. Mr. Hawkins didn't speak a word while his wife rambled on and on to Ranboo, and he didn't know if he was thankful or spiteful for it.

After his ten minutes he was told to go get someone named Miriam. When he quietly told Mrs. Brown he didn't know who that was, she shot him a mix of sympathy and annoyance. She was the eldest girl there, and apparently his roommate. Oh.

He left the room after a quick apology to Mrs. Brown, heading to go grab the girl. He thought she might have been the last person that the Hawkins were going to talk to. Good, he hated the presence of foster parents since he knew rejection was inevitable.

He quietly told Miriam that it was her turn before sitting as his spot on the couch. Ranboo then grabbed his dad's journal from his bag before writing in it. _"A couple named Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins came today. They were looking for two kids. Mrs. Hawkins was intrusive."_ He closed his journal before stuffing it back in his bag, not wanting anyone to catch a glance at his writings. He'd made the mistake of letting a social worker read it once, without his permission of course, and he had gotten an earful after they had read something he'd written about a rude housemate.

Before he knew it, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins were back in the room with Mrs. Brown, the latter standing behind the former. They had come to a decision on who they wanted to foster or adopt, he had forgotten which it was. They said something about choosing a set of girls, the two girls he'd heard that morning. He sighed, congratulating the two on their achievement. The kids around him seemed a little bit jealous, but the twins didn't care. They were just ecstatic, hugging each other before going to hug the couple. Their new parents.

After that, Mrs. Brown had dismissed the kids, saying that her and the Hawkins needed to work on some paperwork. The two girls rushed off to their rooms while the rest of the kids trailed behind him. Ranboo was the first in his room, sitting on his bottom bunk and staring up at the boarding of the top bunk. Soon, Miriam and Jack walked in, talking about how they were excited for the girls.

"Right, Ranboo? Aren't you happy for them?" Miriam asked, startling Ranboo. He hadn't been paying attention.

  
"Wha- yeah, of course I'm happy for them." He chuckled a bit at the end, despite his words laced in a bit of sadness. Despite knowing the inevitable truth, he always got a little bit hopeful whenever foster parents came around.

Miriam gave him a bit of a sad smile, patting him on the shoulder. He'd been in the system the longest out of anyone at the home and everyone knew it. "Don't worry, Ran, you'll get adopted soon."

"Yeah!" added Jack, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "I'm sure someone's gonna come and take you soon!"

Ranboo laughed lightly, looking at the two. "If you think so, I guess."

Miriam smiled at him, brighter this time. "I know so! Don't worry man, you won't have to age out of the system."

He had already turned 16 a month ago, having less than two years before his chance at a family was basically gone. Everyone knew aging out of the system was a scary thought, being all on your own without any family or anything to help you along the way.

"I hope not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe  
> ty for reading so far! also beta-reading sucks :)  
> can u tell i have never been in a group home or been in the system? yes? good because i have no clue what im doing, im just making bs up uwu  
> also dont expect all chapters to be this long,, i just started writing and then couldn't stop lmao


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tired, scared and emotionally exhausted, Ranboo realizes the universe will never give him a break when he hears that more foster parents are coming.
> 
> It goes better. Much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihii  
> mm Phil come get your child  
> i originally meant for this to be a shorter chapter and then i just didn't stop.  
> brought to you by jubilee line *finger guns*

The next day when Ranboo woke up, his head felt split in two. It was as if someone had taken an axe and brought it down upon his skull, for what crimes Ranboo didn't know.

Groggily, he opened his eyes but quickly closed them as the light blinded him. only worsening his migraine. It was probably around sunrise, he guessed. He tried opening his eyes again, the blinding pain returning. Instead of shutting them, he instead squinted as he sat up. His bunkmate was still asleep, but Jack was up. He was reading through a borrowed library book (they had gone to one a week earlier, as a treat for one of the kid's birthdays.) and hadn't noticed Ranboo was awake.

Gently, Ranboo laid back down, listening for a moment as the cream pages turned, hearing Jack quietly whispering some of the words. It was peaceful.

Suddenly, the pages stopped along with the whispers, and Ranboo looked over. He met Jack's eyes, the latter having finally noticed he was awake.

"Hey," Ranboo said, giving a small salute. "What're you reading?"

Jack fumbled a bit, adjusting his glasses. They were fake, but he guessed they must've brought Jack comfort. "Just some fantasy book, I don't think you'd be interested in it." He shifted uncomfortably.

Ranboo looked away, assuming it was the eye contact making Jack nervous. "I think fantasy is a wonderful genre, but if you don't wanna talk about it 's okay too."

Jack glanced at Ranboo before moving back to his book. "I'm heading back to sleep, it's too early for socialization," Ranboo mused, chuckling a bit at the end. He didn't plan on going back to sleep, but wanted to make Jack feel more comfortable. Instead, he turned to face the wall, away from Jack. He'd gotten good at faking the soft rise and fall of his chest, the slight snore he had, over his years in the system.

As he heard the pages turning and the slight whispering pick back up, he dozed off for real. He just hoped Jack didn't notice.

\---

When he next woke up, it was only an hour or so later than when dawn broke through. His migraine wasn't much better, but it was easing up a little bit from that morning. He noticed that Miriam was awake, Jack no where to be seen in the shared room. He got up and headed to the bathroom, needing to clear his head.

When he opened the unlocked door he almost ran for the toilet and threw up. He didn't feel that sick, but his migraine hurt like a bitch, only worsening due to his harsh movements. Instead of hurling last night's dinner, he turned on the tap quickly and splashed some cold water in his face. It only minutely helped the feeling of his skull splitting in half, but grounded him. Today was going to be better.

The night before he'd had a nightmare, waking up at the ungodly hours of the morning. He didn't remember what the nightmare was about, too tired to write it in his journal; the nightmare must have somehow given him a migraine. That, or the sleep deprivation due to having constant night terrors finally was catching up to him. Either way it sucked.

He took a few breathers, guiding himself through a breathing exercise a therapist had once taught him. He didn't go to therapy much anymore, claimed he "didn't need it." ~~Liar.~~ 4-7-8; breathe in, hold, breathe out.

After repeating the pattern a few times he heard a knock come from the door. Quickly, he opened it and left, not looking the person in the eyes as he headed back to his room. A few feet away from his shared room's door, he was stopped by Mrs. Brown.

She warmly greeted, "Good morning Ranboo! We're going to be having another meeting later today, heading to the park."

He blinked up at her, processing her words. "Again? Two days in a row?" He knew he was unnecessarily complaining, he had no reason to complain at more of a chance to get adopted, but he was tired and it felt like the wind would slice his head in two like a knife through lettuce.

She gave him a sympathetic sigh, nodding. "I know Ranboo, but their meeting is scheduled for today and we can't keep them waiting for much longer." She sounded a little exasperated at his reluctance, turning around and heading back downstairs. He thought he might've seen her roll her eyes, but didn't dwindle on it. Instead, he opened his door, noticing both of his roommates missing. He began to pack his essentials, though knew he wouldn't need it. For one, he knew he wasn't going to be even considered, let alone chosen by a foster parent. Secondly, he couldn't run if he'd tried. There was always security and social workers whenever there was an outside meet with fosters. He'd seen a kid try to run before. It hadn't ended up well for him, and he'd moved group homes after that.

Instead of all piling into one car, the kids were picked up and driven by their social workers. It seemed a little bit of a waste of time to Ranboo, but he wasn't complaining; he really didn't like being in close contact with other people, avoiding it when he could. Ranboo's social worker was a nice woman named Mrs. Puffy. He didn't know much about her, he usually forgot, but he knew she was nice and had a roommate who owned a bakery. Sometimes Puffy would bring some of her roommate's baked goods; today was one of those days.

He opened the door to her car (he didn't remember the make or model, but it was a grey Toyota of some sort) and slid into the passengers seat, setting his backpack on his legs. Puffy's car was a little bit small for him, but that was simply because he was freakishly tall despite being only 16, and most cars weren't meant to accommodate such tall people. It was fine, his head only brushed the top of the car if he slouched a bit, and he didn't mind having to curl his legs in a bit to fit. Really, it was okay.

"Hey, Ranboo!" Puffy smiled at him, handing him a bagel in a bag, the bag holding the familiar logo of "Puffy's Pastries." Why the name of the store was named after Puffy instead of the store owner, he didn't know, but he didn't complain as he gratefully took the bagel, not being able to grab anything but a small orange for breakfast before being rushed out the door. He smiled at her as he bit into the bagel, soft and warm.

"What's been going on, bud?" She glanced over at him before turning back to the road. It wasn't that long of a drive to the park, he'd been there before, but long enough that they couldn't walk there with the time crunch.

He looked over at her, "Nothing much. We had a meet yesterday and it.. never mind," (Puffy didn't need to know about the uncomfortable questions, it just would make her worry, she didn't need that,) "but, uh, I slept well!" He looked over at her, smiling warmly despite the lie. Puffy shot him a worried glance, grip tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel. Oh no.

"Ranboo, you can always tell me if something goes wrong, okay?" She glanced at him again, holding his gaze for a little longer before continuing. "Did the Hawkins make you uncomfortable?"

He nodded slightly before stopping himself, and he hoped Puffy didn't notice the way he trembled a bit at the mention of the uncomfortable couple.

Puffy, unfortunately, noticed.

She sighed, pulling over and turning to look at Ranboo fully. He glanced over, holding eye contact for a moment before turning back to his bagel. "Ranboo, look at me." He complied, instantly turning to her voice. "Ranboo, you don't have to say what exactly made you uncomfortable, but you have to tell me if fosters do or say something wrong. Okay?"

He sighed. Ranboo knew she was right, but he didn't want to admit it. Instead of saying anything, he hummed solemnly in agreement. Puffy took this as an acceptable answer, pulling back into the right lane and continuing to drive. The drive was mostly silent after that.

They arrived at the park, noticing a lot of other cars. The other kids, he guessed. But there was an unfamiliar car there, and he assumed it must be the car of the foster family. They had a nice, dark green van with a sky light. Whoever the owner was had good taste in color, he thought, smiling at the comforting color.

Puffy parked, then stepped out of the car, Ranboo following suit. He shouldered his bag, following Puffy with his eyes trained at his feet. He glanced up, noticing the foster parent. Or foster parents? He didn't know, since there was a larger group.

It consisted of an older man with longer blonde hair who wore a dark green hoodie and black shorts with sandals. Odd combination, considering it was late August and the two styles were conflicting. On the man's head sat a green and white bucket hat. Next to him stood a taller man in a yellow sweater and leggings, adorning a deep red beanie atop his curly brown hair. Sitting on a bench behind the two were two more people, talking about something; a man with soft, pink hair wearing a red coat and white t-shirt. He was on his phone, the conversation presumably being about something on it. Next to him sat a younger person, probably around his age, wearing a red and white baseball tee and khakis. His hair was a messy curl of blonde, similar to the older man's but not identical.

He tapped Puffy on the shoulder, indicating where he would be, sat under a tree at the edge of the allotted space. Puffy nodded and he went off, noticing her giving a small wave to him. It made him smile, thinking about how Puffy was always nice to him despite everything. It made him feel comfortable. ~~Loved.~~

He sat under the tree in the shade, thankful for the darkness compared to the harsh light the sun gave. His migraine hadn't waivered, and he almost felt like crying, but didn't. He didn't want to appear weak in front of the potential foster parents. (Deep inside, he knew it didn't matter. He was odd and stupid and forgetful, no one would never truly want him. Still, somewhere inside, he held a bit of hope.)

He pulled out his spiral-bound notebook, going to the last page as he pulled out his pencil. He used it as a doodle page whenever he was bored or needed something as a distraction. Ranboo didn't consider himself the best artist, but he wouldn't say he was the worst. He liked drawing bunnies and flowers, it was comforting to him. If you asked him what his favorite animal was, he'd probably say rabbit. They had always held a special place in his heart. ~~They were always his father's favorite.~~

He zoned out for a bit, just drawing whatever, when suddenly he felt someone tap his shoulder. Startled, he jumped and shut his notebook closed, looking over to whoever had touched him. It was the older man with the bucket hat, giving a small laugh as Ranboo jumped.

"Sorry, mate, didn't mean to scare you." The older man sat down next to him, giving a friendly smile. This was new; usually foster parents only really looked from a far at the kids instead of coming up close. When they did, they never apologized. Was this a trap? Was this man in some sort of weird cult or something?

Ranboo realized he'd frozen still, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He relaxed a little bit from his tense position, setting his notebook gingerly in his lap. "'S all good, don't worry about it," he mumbled.

The man in the bucket hat snorted a little before turning back to him. "What were you drawing? It's fine if you don't want to share, but it looked pretty neat." He gave Ranboo another smile. Ranboo realized he wasn't paying attention to his drawing and opened the book back up.

"Ah! That's a nice rose," the man said, pointing to the drawing. "Y'know, my son, Wilbur, he's an artist himself. Although he's more of a musical artist than a traditional artist, but an artist none the less." The man gave a friendly laugh, looking back up at Ranboo from the drawing. Ranboo tried to return the smile, but instead gave a small, strained grin. If the man noticed that he was uncomfortable, he didn't mention it, but shifted a little bit farther from him. Odd.

"My name's Phil, what's your name, kid?" He looked back over at the man - Phil, he reminded himself, - before shrugging.

"My name's Ranboo," he mumbled. He never really liked his name since it was unusual and strange, but the stranger didn't seem to care.

"Ranboo is a wonderful name!" T- Phil practically beamed excitement and childish delight, his attitude not reflecting his years. Ranboo had never met someone like this, other than perhaps Puffy, someone who genuinely seemed happy. He wondered if it was a front, a trap to lure in kids. It might have not been since he had kids of his own, one he had even called his son, but he had learned not to trust facades. Just because he had kids didn't mean he wasn't just putting on a friendly front.

He said none of this, instead choosing to hum in response. Phil began to stand up, using the tree as help. "Welp, I'm gonna go meet with some of the other kids. C'you mate!"

And with that, Phil left. Ranboo stared after him before returning to his notebook. The peace didn't last long, however, as he heard footsteps approach him.

"What're you doing here, all alone? What, you a loner?"

He looked up, once again startled, to see the other blonde. Behind him stood the brunette with curly hair who elbowed him in the side.

"Sorry 'bout Tommy here, he's just a gremlin," the brunette apologized. Ranboo shrugged in response. _He wasn't wrong, after all._

The brunette and the blonde - Tommy? - sat down, the brunette then extending a hand. Ranboo looked at it, then back at the owner of said hand.

"My name's Wilbur, this here is Tommy, he's a child." Tommy gave some indignant noises at the jab, but Ranboo just sat still. He never took the hand.

"My name's Ranboo, it's nice to meet you," he mumbled, shifting uncomfortably before noticing his notebook was still open. _Fuck._

"Oo, what're you drawing, Ranbo?" Tommy asked, saying his name incorrectly. He didn't know if it was on purpose or not, but he didn't care. People got it wrong all the time. He did, however, care as Tommy grabbed his notebook.

He flinched, reaching for it for a split second before stopping himself. He didn't want to upset the kid, which in turn would upset his social workers. He knew Puffy cared a lot, but he didn't know if she would stay that way if he upset a child. Instead he sighed and put his hands in his lap. "Not a lot, just doodles," he mumbled.

Wilbur smacked his brother's arm. "Tommy, quit. Don't look through people's shit, it's rude." Wilbur carefully took the notebook from Tommy's hands, which the latter protested against, before handing it back to Ranboo. "Again, sorry. Gremlin doesn't know manners."

Wilbur looked back at his brother, grabbing him by the arm and pulling them both to their feet. "I'll be seeing you, Ranboo." Wilbur gave a friendly smile before beginning to drag Tommy away.

Before giving up Tommy shouted back, "C'ya, Ranbo!"

He froze, not knowing how to respond. He barely processed it before he felt someone sit down near him, but not next to him, giving him some space. He looked over, a little bit panicked, seeing the man with the pink hair.

"I can't believe they're my brothers," the man said, voice monotone. Ranboo noticed his hair was incredibly long, braided into a long plait that reached his back and scraped the ground when he sat. The tie of the braid held a small, plastic crown pin. Interesting.

Ranboo just nodded in agreement, although to what he didn't really know. The man just continued to stare apathetically after his brothers.

For a few moment, they sat like that, the man now staring at nothing, Ranboo in turn staring at him.

Then, the man glanced over before looking forward again, and Ranboo did the same.

"The name's Technoblade, but everyone calls me Techno."

Ranboo didn't quite know how to respond. That was an odd name, _Technoblade,_ but his name was odd too so he guessed he had no room comment.

"Mine's Ranboo," he mumbled after a moment, not looking over to Techno. He felt eyes on him for a second before he heard shuffling and when he looked over, Techno was walking off. His dad (?) was waving the young adult over, and he assumed the visit was over.

Soon, Puffy would come over and tell Ranboo it was time to head back to the group home, that they would need to wait a day for the fosters to make a decision. Usually that happened, but some fosters were a bit rash and decided right then and there, just like the Hawkins had the other day. Soon, Puffy would take him back to the group home in her old, grey Toyota, asking questions about the visit that Ranboo gave vague answers to at best. Soon, Ranboo would write about how he'd liked the fosters, writing down each of their names. He would write about the cool, green van and it's matching owner, about his interesting sons.

The next day, the group home got a call.

Within the hour, Ranboo's things were packed and he was going to a new family.

This was either going to go really, really well, or really, really terribly. He hoped the former rather than the latter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to try to update at least once a week!! maybe every friday or saturday? idk i'll have to figure out a schedule
> 
> ranboo is a little ooc in this chapter but like,,, i can't be bothered
> 
> also!! thank you all for the hits, comments and kudos!!! i read all your comments and the notes you guys leave on your bookmarks :) it means a lot, again, thank you!


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